Galliulina, Irina Vassilyevna
by Izulia
Summary: Chekov and Irina meet at a cafe. Just another lovers' tiff...


Chekov walked into the cafe but stopped on the threshold. It wasn't what he had expected, But then, he reasoned, recently he had come to expect the unexpected. From her. She drew him in like the thick narcotic smoke that filled the cafe with a heavy fug that hung in bands in the weak morning sunlight that filtered through the cafe's narrow windows. His eyes scanned the room hungrily, seeking her out, but he couldn't see her. He checked the chronometer behind the bar. Yes it was 11.00 hours, exactly as she had asked. He walked back out onto the street and re-read the name of the establishement: Enzo's. It wasn't in a very good part of town. It was known as an area where people who wanted to be 'different' would come. He drew a deep breath and plunged back into the gloom of the cafe.

A girl with brown and yellow mottled skin and a long mane of fur-like hair was serving drinks from behind a small bar not far from the door. She turned and gave Chekov a long stare. _What was he doing in here_ , she wondered. She eyed the young man with his dark eyes and regular features. She could tell he was out of place in the cafe, but he carried himself with a self-assurance and an innate confidence. He's either rich or well-bred, she thought. Probably both. Chekov felt the interest and curiosity in her gaze with confusion. _It must be my uniform_ , he thought, hurriedly pulling off his red peaked cadet's cap and holding it embarrasedly in front of him. _I can't stand here like this. I look like a monk at a pagan's party_. His more reasonable self told him to leave immediately, but his desire to see _her_ quelled his common sense. He decided to walk up to the bar. The girl leant her elows on the counter. Chekov was slightly startled by her yellow cat-like eyes and the coy smile that played on her lips.

"Are you having something to drink or have you just come to gawp?" she asked in amusement in a low voice with the hint of a growl. Or was it a purr?

"Was I gawping?" he asked, feeling even more perturbed by the sight of two small fangs at the edges of her mouth. He couldn't remember that his jaw had dropped.

"Yes. You were gawping. So what can I get you?"

"Tea and..." he hesistated. He wasn't sure what she'd want. She seemed to change her mind every time they went out together. "Well... just tea for now."

The girl's look changed to mild amusement. "And what sort of tea would you like? You name it – we've got it." She indicated to a long and scrolling list on a viewsceen on the bar.

Chekov glanced over it. "Georgian. Sorry. Yes. Georgian tea." Why was he stammering over a stupid tea order? He looked over his shoulder at the cafe. Now he was in it, it looked more like a bar. As usual in this part of town the clientelle hailed from all over the Quadrant. But there was something odd about the mood of the room. Groups were huddled around tables or in corners. Various alcoves hid others. Most seemed to be inebriated on one substance or another. Their words were lost beneath the monotonous chanting music that was playing loudly over the audio system.

"That's two credits, sailor boy."

"Hm?" Chekov turned back to the bar. The heavy, dulling atmosphere of the room was already starting to take the edge off his senses. The music droned on.

He fished the credits hurriedly from out of his tunic pocket and pushed them across the bar. "What is that music?" he asked with a grimace.

"Tellarite trance rhythms. You like?"

"No. Not really."

The girl laughed and poured the steaming tea into a cup and placed it on a saucer in front of him.

"You don't come to places like this much, do you?"

He shook his head and gave a half-smile. "I prefer the Academy bars," he said apologetically.

"They're cool too," she replied. "I went out with a cadet last year. Clever can be sexy sometimes." She leant across the counter and beckoned him with a conspiratorial wave of her hand. "You're cute, sailor boy. If she doesn't come, you can take me to one of your Academy bars."

"Don't listen to her, Pasha. She'll eat you alive."

Chekov spun round in embarassment at the sound of the Russian voice, a slight blush suffusing his cheekbones.

"Privyet, Irinochka!" he said hurriedly. He gazed at her with a broad smile. Her very presence transfixed him.

Irina ignored him and continued to talk to the girl. "And he hasn't got time for what you've got planned for him, Betti."

"I could make the time," interjected Chekov with a virtuous look, still unable to take his eyes off her. Betti laughed and moved off to serve a Denebian who was drumming impatiently with a large claw on the bar.

Irina shot Chekov a condescending look. "She has fangs, you know," she replied in Russian tapping him lightly on his chest. "Her boyfriends all have scars. Betti, get me a Cygatian Sling when you're done there."

Better to have physical scars than mental ones, thought Chekov, which is all I seem to be getting from you recently. He watched as Betti poured the red liquid into a tall thin glass and fished some more credits out of his pocket to pay. Betti smiled, showing her fangs, and licked a long pink tongue across one of them. Chekov picked up the Sling and the tea and stumbled away from the bar in embarrassment and followed Irina to a table next to one of the windows. Irina settled herself languidly into her seat and draped one of her arms across the back of the chair. She took the drink from him with the other and gave a small, elegant sip. The weak alcohol felt like a tonic to the trance-inducing smoke she had been taking that morning. She didn't want to share this with Chekov – he would only disapprove. She had to pretend that she felt fine but, like the old Russian proverb told her, wine is no comrade of the mind.

Chekov threw his cap onto a empty chair and sat down opposite her, watching her in silence for a moment. Everything was so studied with her, he decided. She thought about the trivialities of life too much while ignoring the bigger issues. Every detail had to be over-analysed at the expense of the bigger picture. Somehow, he felt, he wasn't living up to her expectations.

Yet it had been she who had persued him to start dating her, he reminded himself. A girl in his Warp Theory class had introduced them at Irina's request after a lecture. Irina had just about thrown herself at him. She started the Warp Theory lectures too, found out which bars he went to, infiltrated his group of freinds and made herself very available. He wasn't really interested at first. The thought of dating a Russian _devchonka_ when he was surrounded by so many other more exotic girls had just seemed too 'homely'. But as he got to know her, he had become captivated by her. She had a passion for life, a recklessness that thrilled him but at the same time slightly scared him. She was sexy and fun but most of all she made him feel wanted – not just another notch on another bedpost.

He blew on his hot tea. He wanted to pour the tea into the saucer and drink it down cool like the pesants of old used to do. But she would only disapprove.

"I haven't seen you for a few days," he began cautiously. "What have you been up to?"

"Oh, this and that," she said evasively, gazing out of the window. She pulled her light knitted yellow wrap over her shoulders. "I was at a public lecture at the Interstellar Peace Hall this morning. A Dr Sevrin there was talking about new ways of living. He has quite a following, you know. I've been to a few of his talks recently."

Chekov took a sip from his cup. The crude Georgian tea tasted bitter. "You've never mentioned it before. So what new way of living has he come up with?" he asked, more out of politeness than interest.

Irina turned her large brown eyes to him. They suddenly shone with an enthusiasm he had never seen in her before. "He says that modern society is no longer natural for mankind and that we need to return to a more basic existence. We don't need starships and replicators and sonic showers – we need fresh air, fresh food and freedom. We need to use the things we find in nature and respect and replenish what we use. Do you reach? What do you think of that?"

The question sounded more like a challenge. _Do you reach?_ Chekov wasn't sure what he thought of that. What was so wrong with replicators and sonic showers? They kept you fed and they kept you clean. It was only a manipulation of physics and chemistry, after all. How else could society have managed to feed the explosion in population after the Third World War? Without Zephram Chocrane and star ships, how else would mankind have left Earth and set up colonies. All those people had had to go somewhere. And when those brave people went they were able to exchange ideas, technologies and art with the civilisations that they encountered. And those exchanges brought about an understanding that mankind had a unique place in the galaxy, giving them a perspective that brought about peace and the end to war and want. It seemed to him that what Irina was proposing was a new turning inwards and a closing back in that focussed on what the individual wanted, not what was good for all. She's obsessed with the detail again, he thought. She can never see beyond herself. He couldn't have told her that, even if he had tried.

"Sounds fine," he said vaguely. "But there's nothing wrong with a sonic shower."

"You would say that," she snorted. "You're such a herbert. You would always prefer a soulless technological solution to something that should be a physical, visceral experience."

She was frustrated with him and yet, deep down, she knew that it wasn't his fault. She had wanted him from the first moment that she had set eyes on him. His initial indifference had been nothing more than a challenge to her. He was someone she had had to possess: the smartest cadet in his year, good-looking, popular. The situation had seemed simple – have him and move on. But first impressions had deceived her. He wasn't brash and showy like the other boys, and his intelligence hadn't meant he wasn't interesting. She was amazed at his capacity for work, his enthusiasm for sport, his loyalty to his friends, even that he played the piano like a dream. Not many people knew that about him. He never played for others, only for himself... and for her. The more she knew about him, the more she realised that they were opposites. All his talents were her failings. He didn't deserve her. He deserved someone better.

"Irka, you're talking about a shower..." He unbuttoned the high collar of his uniform. The atmosphere of the room was starting to make him too hot and uncomfortable. Her language was peppered with slang he had never heard before. Where had she got that from? She could have an odd sense of humour but this was just strange...

"No, I'm not just talking about a shower, Pasha," she said heatedly. He fingers tigthened every so slightly around the glass. Chekov noticed the movement. She was being deadly serious, he realised. "I'm talking about it as a metaphor for exsitence. We have surrounded ourselves with falsehoods. We need to find a new Earth... a new Eden where we can live once again as we were suposed to do."

Sevrin's words had come as an inspiration to her. They were simple. The idea was simple. She didn't have the energy and capacity to keep up with the complexities of modern life. Thinking about warp fields and sub-space made her head hurt. Sevrin's dedicated band of followers had welcomed her and made her feel wanted. The Academy had never been like that. You had to work for every credit. It was a constant round of competition against others and yourself. But with Severin's group you didn't have to try. You just had to be yourself and they accepted you. There were no hang-ups, no rules, and anyone could love anyone. She felt that she was One. She shared their comon goal. She wanted to tell Pavel about it – about the plan for the group to use a ship to head out to find Eden. They had the co-ordinates. They just needed to do it. But she knew he would never go with her.

"Exactly how many of these 'lectures' have you been to?" he asked suspiciously. "It sounds to me like they are trying to indoctrinate you. You're too trusting, Irochka. There's no such place as Paradise."

Irina's face darkened. "There is... and we'll find it."

"We?" The tone of her voice made it clear that the 'we' did not include him.

She softened her expression a little and put her hand across the table to touch his arm. "You've had such a sheltered upbringing, Pasha. Your parents work in their ivory towers and they've given you everything. You have never struggled in life...never known the need to rebel and question your existence..."

Chekov pulled his arm away at her patronising tone. "You know very well that my being at the Academy has nothing to do with my parents. My being here _is_ a rebellion. My father wanted me to follow him in government work and economics. I had to disregard everything they wanted for me in order to come here." He preferred not to think about those times. Going to the Academy had nearly cost him his relationship with his parents. They had already lost Pyotr and now they felt they were losing him too. But his first loves had been science and the desire to explore. He could have had the pick of any academic institution in the galaxy but what else could he have done but join Starfleet?

"Then you know nothing about me, Irina," he said darkly. He had felt her distancing herself from him gradually over the past few weeks. She had kept taking herself of to who knew where. This meeting was starting to drive them even further apart. It confused and hurt him.

She withdrew her hand. She had said too much too soon. She recomposed herself. She should be trying to win him over – not drive him away. "So what have you been doing then?" she asked with forced lightness. "Studying?"

Chekov swallowed his rising anger. "I have had offers for navigation placements from three fleet captains, including Captain Kirk of the _Enterprise_. Captain Laver of the _Barents_ is re-charting the N6782 nebula and Captain Timbu of the _Crow_ is patrolling the inner Romulan border. It's the _Enterprise_ I'm most interested in, though. They are about to start a five year exploration mission into deep space. They have a navigation placement and a chance to work in the Sciences under Commander Spock. Can you imagine? It's uncharted territory. Even the Vulcans and Andorians haven't been that far out. Who knows what they'll find. Your paradise, perhaps."

Irina gave a tight smile. "Perhaps. If it's anywhere, it will be out there."

"I have to visit the Enterprise for a few days," he continued, ignoring her neutral tone. "They are at Jupiter Space Dock. I've been asked to have a look around. To see if it's right for me and I am right for them. I'm leaving toight but I'll be back in a day or two."

"Good for you."

Chekov's eyes narrowed. He didn't want to get angry. "I thought you'd be pleased for me."

Her nod was unconvincing. "Yes, I am. Well done."

"Irina Vassilyevna, what is wrong with you?" he asked sharply, pushing aside his tea cup. Her mood was starting to irritate him. "Are you going to classes today? You're not exactly dressed for them, are you?"

She cast a sour eye over him. "Classes? That's all you can think about. You're no more than that uniform, are you? You just love the 'yes-sir' and the 'no-sir'. Study to the early hours. Pass all your exams. Get the plum job on the flagship. As long as it's all done correctly. All you Fleet boys are the same. You're happy to be shackled to your consoles and do what the computer tells you to do."

Chekov was taken aback by her outburst.

"Is that what you think of me?" he asked in disbelief. "And is that all you think Starfleet is?"

He had been on report twice last month for 'brawling' in the West Campus bar with a Tellarite junior cadet. Admiral Terekhov, a gnarly and wily old Ukrainian veteran of the stars, had advised him that if he was brought up again, he would be out of the Academy. And yes, Terekhov was right: he was the senior cadet and he should be able to keep his temper. Fighting was inexcusable. There was a process for dealing with such incidents. But the Tellarite was a bigot and had kept needling him and needling him every time he saw him. The porcine alien had just taken a plain dislike to him and, when mixed with alcohol, he obviously couldn't help himself. Chekov had even stopped frquenting the West Campus, but the Tellarite kept tracking him down with a malicious glee, full of fresh insults about the way he looked, the friends he kept, the way he drank his vodka. The only thing that stopped him was a sharp punch to his snout. It was wrong – but it was satisfying. He hadn't wanted to tell Irina about being on Report. He didn't want her to see him as a child scrapping in a playground – which was how he felt. He wanted her to seem him as mature and in control of himself. Instead, she seemed to see him as a regulation-bound tin soldier. How did that hapen?

"I don't know what to think about Starfleet," she grumbled. She grabbed her glass and knocked back the remains of the liquid. "Enjoy your trip to Jupiter, I've got to go." She stood up sharply and pushed her chair away from the table with the back of her knees.

Chekov stood up, uncertain of what to do, or of what to say.

"Irka..."

Her name hung in the air as she pushed past him and out towards the door. She looked behind her, as if wanting to say something to him, but instead she shook her head and walked out onto the street. Chekov watched her go mutely, unable or unwilling to call out to her. He caught Betti's eyes shining in sympathy from the gloom of the bar. She had seen it all. Relationships flourished and died on a daily basis in the cafe.

Should he run after her? His heart told him that he ought to, but his head told him otherwise. He had a duty to himself and to his future. He needed to sort out his posting on the _Enterprise_. He would let her calm down for a few days and when he returned from Jupiter he would approach her again. It must be this Doctor Severin who had been putting these ideas of paradise in her head. He would ask her if she wanted to go away for a couple of days before the final exams. He would talk to her about the group. Perhaps then he would understand her better.

He buttoned up his jacket and placed his cap on his head. He had navigation simulations in fifteen minutes. He had to hurry if he was going to get there on time. He nodded his thanks to Betti and walked out into the street. Irina was gone – lost in the throng of pedestrians. Yes. He was certain. When he got back from Jupiter, he would find her again.


End file.
